This was not good. This was as far away from good as one could be, and then even further than that. Dr McKay shouted again, fearing his first attempt of gaining help was unheard. Within seconds, a couple of nurses and a doctor rushed into the room but Dr McKay's resulting emotion wasn't relief. He couldn't feel relief until Ethan had settled. It was more hope. Hope for Ethan. Hope for his brother.

"He started seizing about 20 seconds ago," he informed them, and the other three frantically started helping. They (with little trouble due to how many times they have had to do this in their years in medicine) rolled Ethan onto his side, holding him — not roughly, though — and monitoring him.

"I'm reluctant to give him anything," he stated, out-of-breath just a little, partially overwhelmed by the thrashing movements.

"Pulse is high," one of the nurses said. "Resps are too…"

Dr McKay grimaced. "He doesn't seem to be coming out of this alone." He was opposed to the idea of administering any medicine to Ethan, but if he didn't come out of it alone he would have to. It still remained as the last option, though. He couldn't rule it out.

He silently gasped. "Okay, suction please," he said with a calmness he didn't feel. The second nurse handed it to him. He nodded his thanks and carefully worked, worry spiking because Ethan was throwing up. "We need a CT scan when he's recovered from this." Then he sighed, caving in once Ethan had (thankfully) stopped being sick. "Let's give him 5—"

The sentence died on his lips as he felt less movement coming from Ethan. The fitting was slowing and he was calming. He allowed himself the smallest of smiles and let himself believe that Ethan was still fighting. Fight for longer, Ethan. Please carry on fighting. For Cal. For everyone.

Eventually, Ethan's movements went still. His breathing evened out and his pulse lowered to within the normal range. Dr McKay, with help, maneuvered Ethan into the recovery position.

"Right, let's book that CT and try and get him fast-tracked. And I don't need to remind you to monitor him very closely. Nurse Daniels, please keep an eye on him while he's still postictal."

Dr McKay left the room silently, and tried (once again over the last few hours) to contact Cal.

He heard the ringing for so long, he started to fear Cal wasn't going to pick up. But hope filled him when the ringing stopped.

"Hello? Cal's phone, Max speaking."

"Ah, Max." Dr McKay was glad that Max and Lofty were at least still with Cal (unless something had happened which would cause Max to have Cal's phone and Cal wasn't there…). "It's Dr McKay. Is Cal there?"

He heard hesitation and then muttering. "Lofty's gone to get him." A pause. "Is everything okay?"

"I just need to speak to Cal," he said briefly.

He listened to the silence closely. He heard running footsteps and had to hold the phone away from his ear as someone fumbled around with it. Cal's panicked voice came through the phone. "What's wrong? What's happened? Is Ethan alright? Is he—"

"—Cal," he cut off. "You need to come back to the hospital."

There was heavy breathing. "I… uhm… I can't."

"Your brother needs you, Cal."

The next sound sounded very much like a sob. "Please," his voice cracked. "Just tell me. What's happened?"

While he was reluctant to give details over the phone, it was his only option right now. "I don't want you to worry, but Ethan's had a… a small seizure."

There was a thump as the phone hit the floor. He heard varying sounds before it went silent. Max's voice rang through. "He's gone. Said he was going to the hospital."

"You're… going to let him drive? In this state?" Dr McKay said, concerned.

"Lofty went after him, don't know if he was successful…" he trailed off and there was some more silence. "He wasn't. He just walked in. I'm sure Cal will be fine." Max's voice betrayed his words. He sounded just as worried as Dr McKay.

"Right then… thank you. For going to him. I never properly thanked you."

He could almost hear Max's smile. "Don't mention it. I… I hope Ethan's okay."

Dr McKay nodded to himself, praying he'd believe his own words. "He will be."

Cal ran out of the flat and sprinted down the stairs, almost tripping but not letting it phase him. Eventually, he reached his car. He climbed in as quickly as he could, started the engine, and drove off in record speed — doing his seatbelt up while he was driving.

Something was wrong with Ethan — something Cal probably caused. He owed it to his brother to be by him.

But the closer he drove to the hospital, the more he was thinking about turning back. Without a moment's hesitation, he drove into a side road. One he knew was quiet.

He couldn't do this. What was he thinking?

That your brother — your little brother — is ill. That he needs you.

But what use would Cal be? All he would be able to do would be to watch him suffer, hold his hand as if everything was okay. He could do that when Ethan was still unconscious. He did it every day. He barely slept or ate or looked after himself. And he's doing the same things now. The only difference being that he wasn't by Ethan. Not now. He caused this. He didn't stab his brother. They didn't know who did. But he as good as killed him when he was recovering so well. Actually, he did what he did because he lost hope, because Ethan wasn't recovering as well as Cal thought.

What an idiot. Ethan would call him an idiot too. Oh, Caleb, he would say.

Oh, Ethan…

Cal slammed his head against the steering wheel. Then again. And again. He stopped driving. He had caved in and stopped driving. He willed himself to start the engine, turn back and head to Holby. Or at least back to Ethan's and his flat and thank Max and Lofty for trying to help him. It was the least he could do for his brother.

His hand shook as he turned the key in the ignition. Get a grip, he told himself. With two steady hands, he grasped the steering wheel and changed the gear. There was a moment's hesitation before he did a U-Turn, and that was all he needed for the bad part of his brain to take hold, once and for all.

Cal didn't drive back. He drove on and on, further away from the flat, further away from the hospital and further away from the only person that mattered.